


Stormy Heights

by thegrimshapeofyoursmile



Series: To Build A Home [3]
Category: Bakuten Shoot Beyblade, Beyblade
Genre: BoYu, Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Heart-to-Heart, M/M, Romance, yubo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26970613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrimshapeofyoursmile/pseuds/thegrimshapeofyoursmile
Summary: "Is this your way of flirting with people - by infuriating them after you've just kissed them in the middle of the corridor?" Yuriy demanded to know. "Because then I don't know how you ever manage to hook up with anyone.""You're not someone," Boris said, "and I don't wanna just hook up with you."
Relationships: Yuri Ivanov | Tala Valkov/Boris Kuznetsov | Bryan Kuznetsov
Series: To Build A Home [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909858
Kudos: 11





	Stormy Heights

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the series, but you don't have to have read the previous parts to understand this one.

Boris found Yuriy kneeling on the tiled floor in the kitchen, his upper body halfway disappeared into the cabinet under the sink. It was a sunny afternoon, albeit cold and stormy, so the wind rattled the windows as if it wanted to be let in. Apparently, Yuriy did absolutely not care for the weather outside. Boris looked at the narrow strip of scarred moonlight skin that was visible where the ancient white shirt he always wore to clean had ridden up a little. 

The shared apartment had never been so clean as from the moment Boris had kissed Yuriy two days ago. And considering Yuriy’s OCD, that was quite the impressive feat. 

Boris suppressed the impulse to smash his fist through the window and simply let the storm in. Instead, he walked past Yuriy to the refrigerator and took out a beer, opened it at the edge of the table with years of practice and took a sip while leaning against the kitchen counter. The intense scrubbing inside the cupboard stopped for a moment. Then it started again. 

Boris took another sip. Then he asked, "Are you gonna scrub the trash cans next?" 

He got no answer, but then again, he hadn't really expected one. His eyes found the strip of moonlight skin again, then they moved on. Yuriy had very long legs. It was more noticeable when he was sitting and not kneeling, but Boris knew anyway. He wore socks - thick, tight, red. Boris wanted to press him backwards on the kitchen floor and bite his neck until Yuriy started to twitch beneath him. 

He took another sip of beer instead. "Why won’t you just tell me that I'm an asshole and throw me out right away? Would be helluva lot more efficient." 

The scrubbing stopped. For a moment it was completely quiet except for the relentless howling of the wind, and none of them moved. Then Yuriy's upper body appeared, he twisted a little and stood up, a sponge in his right hand. He was wearing yellow rubber gloves and had tied his now astonishingly long hair into such a tight ponytail that the hard, relentless edges of his face appeared even more sharply than they usually did. Boris held on to the beer bottle so as not to reach for him, while Yuriy's cold, bright eyes rested on him without blinking. He thought about apologizing. 

Then Yuriy said very quietly, "I'm not going to throw you out." 

Boris tried to appear more unimpressed than he really felt and raised one eyebrow. "Because you don't want to or because you feel obligated not to?" 

Yuriy snorted. "All my obligations to you," he replied, still very quietly and calmly, "I have already fulfilled more than enough, I’d say. I won't throw you out. However, I cannot entirely disagree with the asshole part." 

"It was you who ran away.” It was out of his mouth before Boris could catch himself. 

Something in Yuriy's stern, exhausted face twitched, then he put the sponge aside. Boris saw him take a deep breath before he said, with his head turned away, "I admit, that may have been not the best course of action. It was a little clumsy.” 

"Clumsy," Boris said incredulously. It was hard to say what was harder to digest: that Yuriy had actually admitted a mistake, or his choice of words. 

Yuriy looked at him briefly, then lowered his gaze and painfully the rubber gloves from his long fingers with painfully slow motions. He had never been good at talking about his feelings. None of them were, but Yuriy had always been a particularly difficult candidate besides Boris himself. When he talked about it, it was usually in cryptic expressions that one had to be familiar with. It couldn't be said that he hadn't worked on it in the last few years - they had all grown up and Yuriy, now in his early twenties, had become a much more stable person just like Boris - but it was still difficult for him. 

"I'm not angry," Yuriy finally said so carefully that Boris knew he was trying to stick to the communication lessions taught by his therapist, "I was just taken by surprise.” He ran his fingers through his hair, shining blood-red in the wind-blown sunlight. "I didn’t know how to react." 

Boris was silent. He felt that Yuriy was not finished and sometimes it was easier just to wait for him. Also, talking about feelings was not one of his strong points. He preferred to rely on action, which admittedly was what had led to this mess in the first place. 

After a long moment of silence, Yuriy took a deep breath. 

"I want to know why you did it," he said almost harshly, "I'm not a toy to play with.” 

Sometimes Yuriy was a detonated field of glass shards where a single wrong step could cause a bloody foot. But Boris had known him for two decades and had experienced him not only in his best but also in his worst moments. He wanted the bloody foot as much as he wanted the soft hand. He wanted everything, everything that this man could throw at him. He had never met anyone as intense as Yuriy, and there was nothing he was more certain of than that. 

So he raised an eyebrow. "You think I see you as a toy?" 

"I don't know what to think," Yuriy replied still quite harshly, but he put the gloves aside and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "That's why I'm asking." 

"You didn't ask anything," Boris said, only barely suppressing a grin. Yuriy knew that Boris could read him well enough and only feigned his ignorance, which was probably the reason for the red eyebrow. Boris decided to be sociable and took another sip of beer. Then he put the bottle down and pushed away from the bar to approach Yuriy, who watched him quite carefully and held himself in a way that suggested he would have liked to step back. But Yuriy never flinched nor retreated, even when it would have been easier, and he didn't this time either. 

"Is it because you didn't want to?" Boris asked bluntly, taking another step closer. "Because I had the feeling that you wanted to, but you couldn't." 

He could count the thick lashes around Yuriy's clear, bright eyes, while the wind rattled, howling, at the windows. His face, only partly illuminated by sunlight, was a mesmerizing landscape of darkness and light as he pursed his lips. 

"I can do everything I want to," he then said softly, yet with a hint of steel in his voice. 

Boris smiled mockingly because he knew it made Yuriy furious. "Not everything," he pointed out, "and not always." 

"Is this your way of flirting with people - by infuriating them after you've just kissed them in the middle of the corridor?" Yuriy demanded to know. "Because then I don't know how you ever manage to hook up with anyone." 

"You're not someone," Boris said, "and I don't wanna just hook up with you." 

Yuriy's second eyebrow flicked up, but he didn't move. "What is it, then? Did you lose a bet or something?" 

The guy certainly didn't make it easy for him. 

"You’re not a toy for me," he said, because Yuriy simply forced him to come clean. Brutal honesty. It wasn't always better than the fits of aggression he had suffered from for years and that sometimes still resurfaced in quite ugly ways, but mostly it at least got him somewhere. So he continued stubbornly, "You're stupid if you really believe that. And we both know that you are anything but stupid. You're no trophy." 

"Excuse me?" Yuriy asked, downright offended and demonstratively looking down on himself. Boris followed his gaze, trying not to get too caught up in the moonlight ankle that flashed out between jeans and socks. Jesus, he felt like a guy from the Victorian era who already got a hard-on from a naked table leg. At the same time, he certainly felt the need to strangle Yuriy a bit. And not in the fun way. 

He took a deep breath and mentally counted to five, then he said, "You know what I mean, Yura, don't be an asshole if you wanna have a rational discussion.” 

"You want a rational discussion? Okay." Yuriy looked him directly in the face, and then surprised him once again by asking quite directly, "Did you know I was in love with you when you kissed me or were you just bored?” 

Complete silence, except for the storm that howled around the window and let shadow lights dance over Yuriy's red hair like leaves in autumn. Yuriy's eyes were open and clear. He looked at him without blinking - exposed, bare, his defenseless heart laid in Boris' hands, just like that. Just because Boris had kissed him and then asked. Unconditional trust from someone like Yuriy was more valuable than any diamond in the world.

"What," said Boris, who had been about to put his hands on Yuriy's shoulders and now froze as if Yuriy had attacked him out of the blue. Which kinda was the case. 

Yuriy tilted his head. "So you didn’t," he noted. Then, "So an asshole after all." 

At least that helped to get rid of the shock-induced paralysis. 

"I'm an asshole I don't know that you're in love with me?" protested Boris, because it had always been easier to get angry when in doubt than to worry about why his heart was beating so hard. "Can I read minds or something? What do you expect from me? Where does that come from all of a sudden?" 

"All of a sudden?" Yuriy echoed. 

"Well, wasn’t it?" Boris asked, desperately trying to shake off the feeling that he had fallen into something he was not the least bit prepared for. 

Yuriy looked at him as if he was the biggest moron on earth. Then again, he was a master at making people feel that way. "Why did you do it?" 

_Because I wanted to_ , Boris thought involuntarily, _because you're here, because you've always been here, and because I want everything, everything from you, every single aspect. Because I'm hungry, so hungry, and because I never get enough of you._

He finally let his hands sink on Yuriy's shoulders - light as a feather and so slow that Yuriy could have moved away if he wanted to. But he held still and kept looking at him with his inscrutable eyes while the shadow lights danced across his face. He was beautiful, so beautiful, the kind of beauty that came from inner strength and the absolute will to survive, and to which Boris was drawn like a moth to a flame. 

"I want you," Boris said softly, "all of you." 

The corner of Yuriy's mouth twitched, which could mean anything, but then he lowered his eyelids a little and looked at Boris like he had never looked at him before. And then he, who had so much trouble with physical contact and very rarely sought him out on his own, reached out his hand, his moonlight hand, and put it on Boris' cheek. Let it slide on, without haste, until the cool fingers finally rested on Boris' neck and Boris shuddered, shuddered from head to toe. Yuriy's bright, clear eyes held him tight while the wind howled outside the windows, and Boris reached out to run his fingers through Yuri's red strands and catch the shadow lights that had been trapped inside. Yuriy exhaled, a long, heavy sound, but then he pressed a smile on the corner of Boris' mouth. 

"You already got me," he said.


End file.
